


Violent Answers

by write_away



Series: We May Look Easy Pickings [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Kindergarten & Pre-school, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Kid Fic, enjolras picks fights and loses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:43:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write_away/pseuds/write_away
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> "Your mom is going to kill you," Feuilly says as he grabs Enjolras under the armpits and lifts him onto the counter. Enjolras considers squirming out of the grip, but then considers the fall and resigns himself to the degradation of being tugged around by his favorite high schooler. “Hell," Feuilly mutters as he wets a paper towel in the sink, one eye trained on Enjolras. “I’m going to kill you." </i>
</p>
<p>Enjolras loves when Feuilly babysits, but he could do with a little less lecturing sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Violent Answers

**Author's Note:**

> Just another drabble of little Enjolras, this time featuring his favorite Amis - Feuilly. It is not necessary to read the other works in this verse.

"Your mom is going to kill you," Feuilly says as he grabs Enjolras under the armpits and lifts him onto the counter. Enjolras considers squirming out of the grip, but then considers the fall and resigns himself to the degradation of being tugged around by his favorite high schooler. “Hell," Feuilly mutters as he wets a paper towel in the sink, one eye trained on Enjolras. “ _I’m_  going to kill you."

Enjolras winces when Feuilly presses the damp towel to his bleeding cheek. It’s a small scratch, but it’s long, and it’s been seeping a steady trail of red for ten minutes now. “They were being mean to Combeferre. They kept calling him things like - like -" Enjolras wracks his brain for the mean words that had made his friend’s bottom lip quiver dangerously. “Like Four Eyes! And geek! And freak!" He feels his own eyes begin to sting at the memory of their taunts. “I hate them."

Feuilly wipes up the last of the blood with a sigh and tosses the paper towel in the trash. “Enjolras, Montparnasse and his friends are in  _fourth grade_. You can’t be picking fights with fourth graders, no matter what they say to your friends. You’ll get yourself killed one of these days." He opens the cabinet above Enjolras’s head and starts reaching for the little white box with a red cross on the front. Enjolras’s mom restocked it only yesterday.

"But –”

Feuilly slams the first aid kit down beside Enjolras and glares. “Shush.”

“But –”

“No, Enjolras,” Feuilly says sternly and opens the box, rifling through until he finds one of the little square wipes that always sting and hurt. Enjolras tries to squirm away as he rips the package open, but Feuilly knows him well. He wraps an arm around Enjolras’s waist and holds him close, attacking the cut gently but mercilessly. “You’re my responsibility when your mom is at work, and I don’t like you getting hurt on my watch. So will you _please stop_ picking fights with neighborhood kids?”

Enjolras waits until Feuilly is done cleaning out the scrape before he leaps off the counter. He manages the land on both feet, but the impact sends a jolt through his legs, and he has to grab onto a chair to steady himself. “No. They’re wrong and I’m right.” He turns around to face Feuilly and crosses his arms defiantly.

Feuilly sighs and runs a hand through his messy red curls before crouching down to Enjolras’s level. He’s still much bigger, but at least Enjolras doesn’t have to crane his neck too much to meet his eyes. “I know you’re right,” Feuilly admits and reaches out to touch the cut on Enjolras’s cheek. It’s a gentle brush, a worried one, like Enjolras’s mom does every time he comes home from school with a new injury, as if he’s memorizing the new scars. Then his eyes harden and he frowns deeply. “But violence isn’t the answer, Enjolras.”

Enjolras leans away from Feuilly, scowling. “Sometimes it is. Like when Miss Fantine’s mean ex-boyfriend wanted to see her and Mr. Valjean punched him so he went away. Cosette told me it happens.”

Feuilly opens his mouth once, then closes it. With another sigh, he stands and lifts Enjolras onto the table. “Look. Violence is a last resort. Use your words, not your fists.”

Enjolras blinks. “But I didn’t use my fists,” he reminds Feuilly. “I bit him.”

Feuilly groans and buries his head in his hands, gripping his curls until his knuckles turn white. Enjolras can see his lips moving, silently counting to ten. He takes a big breath when he’s finished and lifts his face to stare at Enjolras with defeat in his blue eyes. “How about we go out for ice cream before your mom gets home?”

Enjolras grins toothily and nods. Feuilly is his favorite. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Feedback is my favorite.


End file.
